


Finding a Place

by TelepathJeneral



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 04:43:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20960669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TelepathJeneral/pseuds/TelepathJeneral
Summary: Tarkin and Vader did not always get along; at times, they need to be reminded of each other's position.





	Finding a Place

The world of the tactician was a beautiful one: full of maps and charts and predictions, laid out in simple tables and plotted across delicate graphs. On the deck of a Star Destroyer, the tactician’s craft was appreciated fully, and Wilhuff Tarkin took the opportunity to marvel at the twinkling lights and dancing readouts of the Imperial tactical rooms. During the war--well, many things had been different during the war. The Republic, for once, had appreciated the art of war in supplying her ships with full faculties, and the Empire had seen no reason to deviate from the design. 

Facing out towards the bridge, Tarkin used the relative quiet to get his bearings. Most of the staff were still adjusting, uncertain of their roles, but this group was more confident than most. They moved with purpose--perhaps not a wholesome purpose, but purpose nonetheless. The senior officers, like himself, had been consulted on matters of arrangement and deployment, and with the air of anticipation hanging over the bridge, Tarkin was aware that he had not been brought here for a mere artistic display. A minor insurrection; the first flexing of Imperial power. It would be simple to chase down the errant pirates and put them to rights.

Moving forward, Tarkin nodded to the other commanders, pleased to note their hesitation born of deference. He was a senior officer now, as befitting his wartime rank, and all those promotions and awards had finally paid off. He was a governor. A ‘moff’. He could hold his own against admirals, he  _ had _ held his own against admirals, and captains and commanders and any of the other assorted officers which populated the Imperial ranks. 

He beckoned to the ship captains, drawing them into the tactical space which he had so recently occupied. Tracking a ship was difficult, yes, but they had the resources now to undertake a proper hunt. Within a matter of minutes, Tarkin had sketched out a rough guideline. He disliked the idea of ‘plans’, but he had to organize the others somehow, and he was pleased to find them nodding in agreement as he outlined their possible courses. It would be methodical work, with rather good chances of success--with minimal losses to the Empire. A dynamic way to advance his career, certainly.

It was only near the end of the meeting that the sound of marching feet interrupted Tarkin’s thoughts, and he looked up sharply to find a new figure approaching the tactical rooms. Dressed entirely in black, marching at the head of a full retinue of stormtroopers, the figure of Darth Vader made its entrance, forcing Tarkin to halt mid-sentence.

“We will set our course towards the planet’s moons. Prepare our ships for the jump immediately.”

“Lord Vader.” Tarkin could feel the chill the being seemed to carry with him: that deep, dark weight, like staring at an event horizon. Vader truly was the Emperor’s menace personified. But he would not shrink before this creature so easily. “If you’d consider the displays--”

“We cannot waste our time on displays, Governor Tarkin. Every minute we waste is time for these criminals to make their escape.”

“Wasting our resources on a wild, frantic chase will gain us nothing. We must proceed methodically.”

“Method!” Vader spread his arms wide, frightening the assembled officers into taking a step back. “Our  _ method _ requires only your acceptance of the Emperor’s will, Governor! I have been tasked with ridding this sector of its criminal elements. I will not allow policy and procedure to stand in my way.”

“Clearly not.” Tarkin made a gesture of annoyance with his right hand, ignoring the concern in the eyes of his junior staff. Some of them knew him--yes, Adama and Petrach noticed the irritation, and what it could mean. “Lord Vader. I can see these displays mean nothing to you. Let me present you with some more convincing evidence.”

“Delaying tactics will not work with me, Governor.”

“We have enough enemies in the galaxy, Vader! Do not imagine more where none are lurking.” Tarkin moved forward, ignoring the gazes of the other officers and the blank helmets of the stormtroopers as he pushed past. Oh, he wasn’t afraid of Vader. Afraid in the way that a man might be afraid of planet-quakes, or of gravity, or of oceans: while respecting the power of the natural order, there was an inevitability about it that could not be stayed by fretting over it. No, Tarkin had encountered Vader enough and addressed him often enough to know that Vader was bound to some system of order, and could be made to see reason. Eventually.

And so it was by moving, by advancing through the decks and avoiding the tactical displays altogether, that Tarkin ignited Vader’s interest. As if leading the prey into a delicate trap, Tarkin moved, ignoring the social conventions of Imperial hierarchy to draw Vader to him. It was only a few minutes before Tarkin could feel the weight of Vader’s presence close behind him, and Tarkin allowed himself the smallest smile. 

“You play games with me, Governor.”

“Games.” Tarkin repeated, slowing as he reached the observation bay of the huge hangars. “Your flippancy, Vader, makes a game of all our work.”

“I am never  _ flippant _ , Governor.”

“Then you fail to understand.”

Oh, that was a unique pleasure. It was only a shame that Vader’s mask could not register surprise, though Tarkin could feel the novelty in the being’s posture. Accepting his own indignation, Tarkin turned to face Vader, drawing himself up to face the expressionless mask.

“Do not  _ dare _ to presume to  _ order  _ me in the midst of my own men, Vader.”

“Governor--”

“You are  _ one  _ being. One creature of the Emperor’s will. Terrible and awful and magnificent, yes, but  _ one _ creature. Even you will not be able to stop the full force of a star imploding, and so it will be with organized resistance. You will need these men.”

“I understand what it means to nurture loyalty.”

“Then you don’t feel it necessary to grant me the same boon? I am not  _ you _ , Vader, and for all my skills and talents I still need these men to the same extent. They have served the Empire faithfully, they have served  _ me _ faithfully, and for you to storm in and  _ question _ my tactics on the mere whim--”

“It is not ‘whim’, Governor. The Force itself reveals the location of these insurrectionists.”

“Will it be the Force that guides our pilots? The Force which leads our armies into battle? The Jedi were overthrown precisely because they were unfit to lead an army. The Force is not enough.” Tarkin squared his shoulders, feeling a familiar resentment uncurl from its hidden den. “Do not make decisions now which will take you far longer to undo.”

“I must act as the Emperor has directed me.”

“Then you lack imagination.” Tarkin hissed, turning away again to continue walking. Better to vent his spleen on the steel plating of the hallways than on Vader’s mask. “A momentary gain is meaningless if you throw away the years of loyalty and service of your officers.”

“No cost is too great for achieving our goals--”

“Do we have nothing better to do than trade our quips and mantras? I accept that you have a different tactical approach, Lord Vader, but I repeat: you are a single being.” Tarkin bit his lip, one hand curling into a fist. “And I am now a moff.”

“Your rank…” Vader hesitated, the first sign of slowing that Tarkin had witnessed so far. “The Emperor relies on you, also.”

“And I am just as committed to producing results, Lord Vader.” Now, the twist: Tarkin’s voice had lost its bitter edge, smoothing to more sultry, calming tones. “Our aims remain aligned.”

“The Emperor will not allow unnecessary delays.”

“This is no mere construction job which you can ‘hasten’ with your ‘encouragement’, Lord Vader. You must wait, just like the rest of us.”

Vader was quiet, and Tarkin mused to himself that Vader might well be  _ pouting _ . Powerful men did not like to be told that they had limitations. Tarkin had experienced the same frustration, and knew the impulse well. “If your results are disappointing, Governor Tarkin, be assured that the Emperor will take swift action to remedy the deficiency.”

“I would expect nothing less.” Tarkin tilted his head, hands folded behind his back as he marched across the deck plates. “I await the day, Lord Vader, when you begin to speak of your  _ own  _ goals rather than merely the goals of the Emperor.”

“Our goals--I share my Emperor’s will entirely.”

“Then perhaps you could try speaking with your own authority rather than the strength you’ve borrowed from him.” Tarkin smiled to himself, stepping into a lift to let the doors close behind him. Vader, of course, was left on the hangar level, giving Tarkin the half-minute he needed to restore the tactical room to order and restore his position on the bridge. They would follow a plan this time, hunting down these pirates. Vader would learn his place--not perfectly, the first time, but soon enough. 

After all that effort, after a war and the dissolution of the Jedi, Tarkin had assumed that he’d been through with these power struggles and Force users. Instead, they’d merely traded one kind of lunacy for another, it seemed. Though to Tarkin’s perspective, there was a great deal more consistency in Vader’s approach: more of the dynamic predator, none of the whimpering bystander. An improvement? It remained to be seen. 

Still. Work to be done. Pirates to catch. Perhaps once they had these miscreants in their clutches, Lord Vader would become more reasonable.


End file.
